


Have I Not Proposed To You Yet?

by sherlockisdatingjohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Dance, Fluff, John and Sherlock are very soft and very in love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sherlock is very emotional and cries a lot, Some Jim/Pam scenes but replaced with Sherlock and John, They kiss and hug and hold hands a lot, Wedding, john likes to tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:10:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockisdatingjohn/pseuds/sherlockisdatingjohn
Summary: A blend of two of TV's greatest couples- Jim and Pam and John and Sherlock! John tries desperately to propose to Sherlock in the perfect way, teasing and toying with him numerous times until the real thing blows them both away. Who knew that outside a gas station in the pouring rain was the best place to pop the question?





	Have I Not Proposed To You Yet?

      John was completely and utterly enamored by everything Sherlock did. Every small smile, every quirk of his brow, even every scathing remark that he always seemed to release at just the wrong moment. Obviously, he had been intrigued (or entirely obsessed if you believed his friends, the majority of his blog readers, and Sherlock himself) by the man upon their first meeting. His brilliance was startling, jostling John out of his pattern of self-loathing and loneliness that had dictated his every waking moment since the war. John had always been by his side, his faithful sidekick and friend that followed Sherlock admiringly everywhere he went but now...it was so much different. Now he was free to grab his hand, interlock their fingers, even bring them up to his lips to press a soft kiss against his knuckles while they walked up to a crime scene. He could unabashedly shower Sherlock with compliments during his deductions, sprinkling in a few _loves_ and _darlings_ , no matter who was listening.

      He remembered the conversation vividly, the memory never failed to tug at the corner of his mouth and turn his cheeks pink. Sarah had invited him over that night and he had reluctantly accepted. John had tried to keep his outfit as unremarkable as possible, donning a tan jumper and a pair of jeans, but his unofficial “date shoes” had given him away. Sherlock had eyed him from his spot on the couch as he crossed the room. On his way out the door, Sherlock called out “Really, John? Sarah, _again?_ Surely there's a better way to spend your evening.” John had ignored him at first, annoyance keeping him from hearing what Sherlock was really saying. It wasn't until he was sitting with Sarah that he recognized the hurt that had appeared in Sherlock's voice, realized the motive for his relentless verbal attacks against all of his girlfriends. He had jumped up from Sarah's sofa, yanked his arm from behind her back, mumbling something about a “Sherlock emergency” as he darted out of her door. Running on the idea that Sherlock himself wanted to be the one snuggled and watching movies with John and the hope that he had been jealous of Sarah, he barged through the door of 221B. He found Sherlock in the exact same position he had left him in, it seemed not even his eyes had moved from where they stared at the flat's entrance.

“Dinner?” John asked, his voice hopeful and soft.

“Starving,” Sherlock replied, his lips curling into a pleased grin.

“Alright, then it's a date.”

John bought the ring the next week.

The first time they had breached the topic of engagement was when Sherlock dragged his feet to John's chair and slumped over the back. “I know it seems to defy all practical rules of science and reality, but my room appears to be getting significantly smaller,” he complained into John's hair.

“You sure you just haven't stored one too many old case files in there?” John said lightly, reaching back to run his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

“Improbable.”

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. It was you who said that, yes?”

Sherlock groaned, twirling around the chair so he could slide into the small space beside John.

“You know, you're always welcome to move your stuff up to my bedroom. Your real stuff, not the dusty boxes of police reports and such.” John offered, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulders.

“Well uh, I'm not going to share a room with someone unless I'm engaged.”

John's jaw slid open in incredulity. “Have I not purposed to you yet?”

Sherlock beamed up at him before continuing the joke, holding up his left hand and glancing at his ring finger with confusion. “Mm..I don't..No?” he murmured, fighting the smile that was threatening to spill across his face.

“Oh, well, that's coming,” John smirked devilishly, feeling the warmth in his stomach that always followed being in proximity to Sherlock.

“Oh, right now?”

“No, I'm not gonna do it right here. That would be rather predictable.”

“Okay, so then when?”

“Sherlock, I'm not going to tell you. Hate to break it to you, but that's not how that works.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

“I'm serious, this is happening. And when it happens, it's going to kick your arse, Holmes. So...stay sharp.”

A radiant giggle bubbled from Sherlock's stomach, the sound clashing with his usually intimidating appearance. He tilted his head up to meet John's lips in a short, sweet kiss. “I've been warned” he whispered against his mouth.

      The second time was during their walk home from a particularly challenging crime scene. The evening sun showered Sherlock's face with its pale yellow light and John was consumed with the want to propose right then. He knew it wasn't the right time, he wanted it to be romantic, magical even, their heads filled with images of each other and their future rather than mangled corpses and blood splatters, but that didn't stop him from teasing Sherlock a bit. As the taller man rambled about suspects and anomalous security camera footage, John suddenly stopped walking. He turned towards Sherlock and brought himself down to one knee. Sherlock's mouth opened in surprise, blinking rapidly as he did when inundated with emotions difficult to process.

“Hey, Sherlock” John's tone was serious, his gaze on Sherlock steady. “Will you wait for me one second...while I tie my shoe?”

Sherlock's dumbfounded expression quickly morphed into a handsome grin. “I hate you” he stated as he spun away from John, his face flushed red.

“What! My shoe is untied. What is your problem?”

Sherlock laughed loudly, throwing his head back with the sound.

“Oh my god! You thought I-” John lost his composure as he let out a chuckle. “Oh! No, no-” he swatted the idea away as he stood and jogged to Sherlock. He wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning his head against his clothed shoulder.

“Oh, no! How could I have thought that?” Sherlock said, his voice high with amusement. He grabbed John's hand as they continued their journey back to the flat, both of their faces plastered with loving grins.

      The third time had been during a Lestrade meeting. They had been called in with the rest of the officers even though they didn't actually work for him. It was a lecture about PDA in the workplace, Greg's last attempt at keeping John and Sherlock off of each other in inappropriate places (in the middle of a case, in front of emotional witnesses, etc.) as they always brushed him off when he approached them alone. He was happy for them though and didn't want to have to ban them from showing up to crime scenes together.

“There are all sorts of energy coming from all sorts of different places at a crime scene. Lots of things that energize the situation..uh..” Greg struggled to put together the right words.

“You know what would energize me?” John leaned into Sherlock and said softly in his ear. “If you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes-”

“Don't, don't.” Sherlock whispered back fiercely.

“-would take-” John pushed on as Greg's voice faded into the background.

“If you propose to me during a Gavin meeting, I will say no.”

“Well it's too late 'cause I'm proposing...that you get me a cup of tea, which would energize me greatly and make me the happiest man in the world.”

Sherlock snarled jokingly and bounced his shoulder against John's, breaking into a smile as he saw the joyfully smug look on his face.

      They both looked up as Greg cleared his throat. He stared at them pointedly, amazed at their ability to completely zone out when the conversation was clearly directed at them. “Romantic energy is generally unwelcome though...” he continued, finally having John and Sherlock's eyes on him. John snickered under his breath as Sherlock's cheeks flamed. He pressed their legs together, the connection distracting them from the rest of the meeting.

...

      John was extra aware of the ring box's presence in his pocket as Sherlock told him he would have to leave for a few weeks. Mycroft had called, requesting Sherlock and Sherlock alone. Some sort of familial issue, something so damning Mycroft almost shouted in protest when Sherlock suggested John come as well. He had never shattered his impassive facade so startlingly before, the situation obviously one of very high importance to him. So, John listened to Sherlock apologize profusely for the whole inconvenience and kissed his cheek as he reassured him that it would be okay. John was upset to have to press pause on his proposal plans, already missing Sherlock even as he stood in his arms. He needed to attend to whatever problem had arisen hours away from London, so John unwillingly released Sherlock's hand as he left the flat. The air in the room seemed to still without him there, the light seemed to dim, even the dust motes seemed to freeze without his manic energy fueling them.

      John visited whenever he could, meeting Sherlock in diners and hotel rooms. They video chatted throughout the weeks, even found mini blue tooth devices they could hide in their ears and talk all day long. It was good, the constant reassurance that Sherlock was present even if he wasn't there physically, but John missed him wildly. He missed the way he would curl into John as they slept, the way he squinted his eyes when someone said something stupid, the way his whole body swayed when he was making a decision. John was pacing the flat when his brain conjured up a plan to finally propose, something romantic and with enough urgency to remind Sherlock how badly he needed to be with him. John found his phone and sent him a text.

_Let's meet for lunch._

_Today? -SH_

_Yeah. C'mon, we'll meet halfway. You'll be back before Mycroft even notices you're gone._

_He seems too distracted by the cake on the counter to notice anything of any importance at the current moment. Where? -SH_

_Ha. The rest stop where the woman claimed to be robbed by “the man with no face”? Remember? Exit 17, I think. 1 o'clock._

_Ah, how could I forget that case? See you then. -SH_

      It was raining when John's cab pulled into the parking lot. He smiled, thinking of the countless scenes in classic romance movies where the dramatic love confession happens in the pouring rain. He was glad that there was a traditionally romantic factor to balance out the strangeness of popping the question in front of a gas station. He located Sherlock wrapped up in his wool coat, adorably resembling a damp poodle with the way his curls stuck to his forehead.

“Hey!” Sherlock shouted through the rain “This is not halfway. I did the math.”

“Of course you did,” John said quietly as he jogged towards him, the anticipation for what he was about to do singing in his veins.

“Montclair would have been closer so you-”

John went down on one knee, this simple and yet monumental gesture taking the words from Sherlock's mouth.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock questioned immediately. John grinned in spite of how nervous he was, amused that the world's only consulting detective had to ask for clarification when what was about to happen was so blindingly obvious.

“I just- I can't wait.” John squeezed his hand around the box before opening it to reveal the ring he had purchased months ago.

Sherlock stood, absolutely speechless for a few moments before his mind caught up with his surroundings. He gazed down at John with so much love in his eyes that John thought he might combust before he could even properly ask the question.

“Sherlock, will you marry me?” the words finally left John's lips and they felt so _right_ _._ Everything with Sherlock felt right, felt like he finally discovered the correct place for the puzzle piece he had been desperately jamming into the wrong spot his entire life and that everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be. Sherlock breath hitched in his throat and John swore he saw tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes.” Sherlock choked out, raw and unfiltered emotion swallowing his voice.

John raised himself and pulled Sherlock into a kiss, placing his arm around his back and his hand behind his neck. Sherlock kissed him back fervently, his hands falling to John's waist. John felt himself crying too, unable to contain the downright euphoria that spread through his whole body.

...

      The date of the wedding was a whole year later. John wasn't surprised that Sherlock was as meticulous about planning it as he was about every other aspect of his life. The process had commenced the moment Sherlock returned to London (after John had given him the proper “Welcome Home” shag, of course). When he eventually overwhelmed himself with all the guests, the food, the cake, the suits, and everything else, he confessed to John that he just wanted everything to be _perfect_. John took him by the hand and lead him to the couch. They sat together in silence for a few minutes, John combing through Sherlock's hair and rubbing soothing patterns into his skin. Then he pressed soft kisses to his neck and gently reminded him that the only thing he needed for the wedding to be perfect was Sherlock standing across from him. Sherlock had calmed down considerably after that, leaning into John heavily, his body wrought with exhaustion. Slowly, he fell asleep, and John was filled with complete disbelief that he would have the privilege to be with such an extraordinary man for the rest of his life.

      The bold headlines, chatter of press, and the country's general frenzy signified that the big day was almost upon them, the ceremony scheduled for the next morning. They had decided upon Niagara Falls, the beautiful atmosphere had drawn them both in during their hunt for a venue (the distance from London and any unwanted potential attendees was just icing on the cake). John and Sherlock swayed together lazily in their hotel room, John's last dancing lesson before the real thing. John let his head fall to Sherlock's shoulder, basking in the warmth of their closeness. Sherlock's hand was soft in his as their feet moved in time with each other to a nonexistent beat.

“How are you feeling?” John murmured into Sherlock's neck.

“Like my heart's about to fly through my chest,” Sherlock answered, his voice hot in John's ear.

“So...good?”

“Very.”

John smiled, tilting up to brush his lips against Sherlock's jaw. That night they both slept peacefully, wrapped in each other's embrace.

John woke the next morning to find Sherlock's eyes on him. He reached out his hand, the motion slow and still ridden with sleep, to place it lightly against Sherlock's face. He let his thumb absently trace over his cheekbones, the skin underneath smooth and warm.

“What are you thinking?” John asked, his voice muffled by the pillow he had his head pressed against.

“How thrilled I am to add yet another name to my already ridiculously long title. William Sherlock Scott Holmes Watson. I can't wait to correct people when they inevitably forget the last one.”

John laughed, his head swimming with excitement for the day ahead.

“Truly, John, the thought that I can soon call you my husband fills me with nothing but delight, pure joy. It feels good to say that, I never dreamed I could ever be this happy, never thought I was meant for it. Thank you, John, for being the best thing that could ever happen to me.”

      The light teasing of his previous tone was gone, replaced with a thoughtful seriousness that made John's heart skip a beat. “Sherlock-” John started but found that he was utterly speechless. There were no words that could fully encompass how much love thrummed through his body, how much pride, how much feeling. It was life's tragedy, how the human body could be filled with such intense and complex emotion and yet it had so few ways to express it. He pulled Sherlock as close as he could, their bodies touching from head to toe, hoping that his thoughts would just move through his skin and into Sherlock's, that he could read his mind, feel his heart. Sherlock had his own special way of doing just that, John supposed, because he held John tightly, his breathing heavy and his heart racing.

      John was kicking around a ball with one of his old army mate's sons when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A picture of Sherlock John took while he was looking away filled the screen. “Hey” John greeted, waving a hand at the boy to pause their impromptu game.

“Can you come here please?”

“Is this allowed?” John kept his tone light.

“No, no. But I'm allowing it. Just come here.” Sherlock's voice seemed sad, almost heartbroken, so John rushed to find him.

      Sherlock was sitting quietly on a piano bench in a brightly lit Sunday school classroom when John peaked his head in the last door in the hallway. He was wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, the buttonholes stitched red, and a deep blue tie reminiscent of his favorite scarf. His hair laid perfectly, obviously the result of endless styling and scrutiny, but his eyes were rimmed with red and his thumb kept poking at a small rip in his sleeve.

“Wow, you look-” John whispered, his voice raspy and soft. Seeing Sherlock dressed like that after years of silent want, of fighting alongside him, of fighting for him took his breath away.

“Terrible,” Sherlock interjected, his gaze glued to the ground and his words defeated and small.

“-so beautiful.”

“My jacket tore,” Sherlock mumbled, shifting his body to give John a better view of his sleeve's wound. John pulled up a chair in front of him, his eyes blooming with uncontrollable admiration. He reached over and gripped Sherlock's hand, squeezing it gently as he used his other hand to bring Sherlock's chin up.

“Sherlock, you look just as I imagined you. You are so gorgeous.” John's tone was firm and swelling with affection.

“Thank you.” Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

“And...who cares? It's a stupid jacket, right?”

“No, this-” Sherlock's protest fell away as John reached over to a desk, pulled out a pair of scissors, and cut half of his cream-colored tie off.

“There. Now we're even.”

Sherlock exhaled loudly, the gloom falling from his features as his face softened instantly. He leaned forward and pressed a loving kiss on John's lips. John swore he saw stars as the impossibly tender moment melted his insides. “I love you. So much,” he said, giving Sherlock's hand another squeeze.

“I love you too,” Sherlock replied, a fond smile pulling at his mouth.

      They walked down the aisle together, their backs straight and chins up. John couldn't help but cast many sideways glances at Sherlock, desperate to witness his reactions and feelings as they made their way towards the altar, only to find Sherlock staring back. He didn't think anything could ever knock the fierce smile off his face. They had decided to write their own vows, John knew it would be impossible to describe how they felt about each other within the constraints of the traditional statements. John went first, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's.

     “A few years ago, I was just a guy who had a crush on a man who was 'married to his work',” John added air quotes around that phrase, rousing an dramatic eye roll from Sherlock and a laugh from the audience. “And I had to do the hardest thing I've ever had to do...which was just to wait. Don't get me wrong, I flirted with you a lot. I was warned, many times by many people, that you were cold, unfeeling, robotic, dangerous even but I saw right through your act the first time you smiled at me. I think I would have done just about anything for those rare moments you let me see your great heart alongside your great brain. For a really long time, that's all I had, just those small, human moments with you. A lot of people told me I was crazy to wait this long for a date with a man who many believed to be a complete sociopath, but I think even then I knew that...I was waiting for my husband. So today, I promise to love you through your tantrums and your late nights, through every fight and every adventure, through every moment we spend together. Though it's not like I have much choice, I don't think I could stop even if I tried.”

      Sherlock's mouth was dropped open partly, his body practically radiating with adoration. John saw the way his eyes twinkled, the way he squeezed them shut to keep a tear from spilling over. John was infinitely pleased with his little speech, he was dreadfully worried that he wouldn't be able to get all the words out, that they would fall short, or Sherlock would be disappointed. John grinned up at him, absolutely captivated by the expression on Sherlock's face.

      “John,” Sherlock began, quickly turning to the side to catch his breath, “Sorry. John, when you went down on one knee and presented me with the most beautiful ring I have ever seen, I was very confused. I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. So if I didn't understand that I was being asked to marry you, it is because I never expected to be loved so deeply. Certainly not by the bravest and kindest and wisest being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of our relationship. So know this: today you stand next to the man you have saved, the one who loves you most in all this world. I vow to never let you down and I have a lifetime ahead to prove that.”

      John's arms were pulling Sherlock towards him before he even registered what he was doing. John wanted to tell him how much more he was than an “obnoxious arsehole”, that he was amazing and incredible and that he was already those things when they had met. He didn't think he could form words though, so he just nestled his head in Sherlock's neck as the crowd applauded.

      When the minister finally instructed them to kiss, John stepped forwards hastily and snaked his arm around Sherlock's waist. He spun, guiding Sherlock down into a graceful dip despite their drastic height difference. John's heart soared as Sherlock giggled in surprise. Their lips met swiftly and moved slowly against each other. When they finally stood, they looked out to see that there wasn't a dry eye in the whole audience. Mrs. Hudson was positively weeping, her tears spilling over the huge grin that overwhelmed her face. Greg cheered thunderously, Molly swiped happy tears from her cheeks, Stamford and John's other old friends pumped their fists in the air as if their favorite sports team had just scored a point.

      The reception began with John and Sherlock's first dance. Sherlock had insisted he choose the music, keeping it a secret from John until the moment it played through the crowded room. John recognized it instantly as the song he had caught Sherlock practicing a few times around the flat, the one he always cut off abruptly whenever he sensed John's presence. John realized with a flutter of breath that is was an original composition, written just for him. Sherlock held John tentatively, nervous about his violin piece John guessed, until John pulled him tighter, squeezing his hip where his hand rested. The melody was sweet and pure and indescribably beautiful, each note pushing John closer to Sherlock as they danced aimlessly. The movement was languid and methodical, basically muscle memory after all of the hours they had spent practicing in the living room. It was magical and romantic, tender and compassionate and over far too soon. Their guests applauded them again, following the newlyweds over to the tables set out for them.

      John and Sherlock sat in the front, facing everyone, Harry to John's right and Mycroft to Sherlock's left. They may not have been the most conventional choices for each groom's best man but they both loved their siblings and had grown closer in the months prior to the wedding. John laughed as Harry recalled tales from their younger days, both humiliating and endearing. She declared she had been sober for the past three months, saying she owed John for a large portion of her recovery due to his constant support and “doctor-y advice”. She praised him for being such a reliable presence in so many people's lives, for overcoming his traumas and coming out a more caring, understanding, and loving man. “Sherlock, after spending these past few months getting to know you, I can attest that you are indeed a ridiculous man.” She chuckled at herself, sending Sherlock a playful wink as she continued “I had heard that you were brash, cocky, and arrogant but my brother loved you like crazy so I knew you must be a whole lot more than that. When I met you, I was wary. I didn't want you to be the wrong one, I didn't want you to break John like so many already had. But when I saw the way you looked at him, the way you smiled when you were with him, the way you two acted like teenagers even though you're both  _well_  into your forties, I had complete confidence that you would forever treat John the way he deserved. So, Sherlock, when I say that you deserve my brother, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. Cheers to Sherlock and John!” Harry raised her glass of water in tandem with the audience. John was incredibly proud of her growth these last few months and was glad they finally had the connection they never experienced when they were younger. He was happy she had taken to Sherlock so quickly, the pair already bickering and joking like they had known each other for years.

      While Harry's speech had taken a more comedic route, Mycroft's was surprisingly sentimental. He stood tall, his shoulders broad and poised. His stoic expression slowly faded into profound sadness as he recounted one of the numerous times he had found Sherlock in the dark, alone and high. His normally haughty and posh voice was rough and low when he spoke of how he had always recognized the waves of emotion that crashed behind Sherlock's young eyes and how he had done nothing but advise him to crush it, to lock it away in the back corners of his mind. “For that, I am terribly sorry. I could not foresee that my words would affect you so deeply, exacerbate your pain rather than cure it. It was not coincidence that led you to John, the universe is rarely so lazy. Some would say it was fate. I thank whatever force caused the pair of you to collide, as John helped you in the ways that I never could. He tamed the oceans in your eyes, calmed the tornado that seemed to rip you apart. I can not take back my words that echoed in your head for so many years, that loomed over you as you tried to find your place in this hectic world. The roads we walk have demons beneath and I am grateful that Dr. Watson was able to provide you with wiser words, smarter ones that encouraged you to finally tackle yours. I wish you both the very best of luck.”

      Mrs. Hudson was crying again, her sobs filling the silence that followed Mycroft's finishing remark. John's eyebrows were raised in shock, he couldn't believe that Mycroft had ever felt anything akin to remorse, much less a sorrow so strong it propelled him to write something as eloquent and contrite as that. Mycroft swallowed uncomfortably, his confidence chipping away as the silence pervaded. Sherlock stood abruptly and engulfed his brother in an embrace. Mycroft returned the hug hesitantly at first and then seemed to deflate with relief.

      John would describe the dancing that followed dinner and cake as eccentric if he had to put it nicely. Mike had put together the playlist, a strange combination of modern pop, 90s boy bands, and 80s techno. No matter the music that played or the occasional elbow he felt in his side from an arm gone rogue, John was thrilled to see Sherlock having such a wonderful time. He never took him to be one to enjoy dancing in public, but here he was, jumping and laughing and kissing John, never letting go of his hands. He was lovely, everything was lovely, and John was bursting at the seams with happiness.

      When the uproar of the evening finally began to die down, the crowd of guests gathered around the doors to watch John and Sherlock leave. As they neared the exit, John reached for Sherlock's hand. Mrs. Hudson stopped them to plant a kiss on both of their cheeks, congratulating them on a brilliant ceremony. The sparklers that the attendees flashed during their departure were Molly's idea, washing them all in an orange glow. John sighed contently as Sherlock pulled him closer against the cold. For a moment John mused that at one point in time, Sherlock would have slung up his coat collar and stalked off, leaving him behind in a sweep of confusion and heartache. The thought made him impossibly more grateful that they were together -married now- and that the delicate dance between friends and lovers had finally ended with their first dinner date more than a year ago. John was pulled from his thoughts as they slid into one of Mycroft's sleek cars and he snuggled into his husband's side as they drove off.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! I hope this satisfied all The Office loving johnlockers, I felt like Michael Scott tackling Jim when he found out they were engaged the whole time I was writing this! Some scenes/dialogue taken from/inspired by The Chair Model, Did I Stutter, and Niagra Part 1 & 2 episodes.


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